


Reservations

by gildedfrost



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: First Dates, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-27 22:43:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17775608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gildedfrost/pseuds/gildedfrost
Summary: “Let me know what the word is, then, and good luck. We’ll need to go out and celebrate sometime.” Hank offers his hand.Connor takes it firmly, a spark in his eye. “I’ll hold you to that.”





	Reservations

“Lieutenant Anderson. It’s been a while.”

Hank snaps his head from the screen on his desk to look at the speaker. “Connor?”

Connor smiles at him, the expression warm and comfortable. “It’s good to see you again.”

He looks much as he always has. His CyberLife-assigned apparel has been replaced by standard clothing of similar colors all the way down to the charcoal jacket and silver-and-black patterned tie, though he also wears a black peacoat and thin gloves with snowflakes clinging to the fabric. His hair is slightly windswept and shines with beads of melted snow. The clothing suits the early February weather.

He hasn’t seen Connor since November 17.

Hank grins at him and stands, pulling him into a hug. “Fuck, I missed you. How you been?” He pulls back, keeping a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “Everything going alright?”

“Everything is fantastic,” Connor says, enunciating each word crisply. “Sorry I haven’t kept in touch. Life’s been busy, as you can likely infer from the news. There’s practically no end of work to do, so my hands have been full up until now.”

“You look like you’re keeping it together. So what’s going on now? You don’t look like you stopped by just for a chat.” He leans back against his desk.

“I have come to the conclusion that politics are not my passion. I may be skilled at law and understand the political climate, but I’m an android. That’s not exactly a unique trait.” He shrugs. “My help with Jericho’s community and leadership was useful in reaching the current measure of stability that we have and I have been grateful for the experience, but I want to start contributing in a way that not everyone else can.” He gestures towards the captain’s office. “I’m here for an interview.”

“I guess you can’t skip the formalities, huh? Can’t wait to see you back on the job.”

Connor’s smile tightens. “It isn’t just a formality, Lieutenant. My qualifications were never a concern. I have few doubts that I will be hired, but the captain and I need to assess our perspectives about my potential role on the force and any concerns regarding my connections to Jericho.” He lets out a small sigh, looking down at the desk before meeting Hank’s eyes with another smile. “Thank you, though. I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks.”

“Let me know what the word is, then, and good luck. We’ll need to go out and celebrate sometime.” Hank offers his hand.

Connor takes it firmly, a spark in his eye. “I’ll hold you to that.”

 

 

Connor gets the job.

“I’ll be back to work Monday as a homicide detective,” he says while sitting on the arm of Hank’s sofa, one foot on the sofa and the other dangling off. One hand is occupied with petting Sumo. “The captain wants us to work as partners for the next two years on most cases so that we can properly gauge my performance in the field and set a precedent for human-android partnerships. The combination of my technology with your experience will be beneficial to clearing out the backlog of cases since the revolution.” Connor’s lip quirks. “And I anticipate the reception to my partnership will be much warmer than the last time I was paired with someone.”

“Congratulations,” Hank says from the other side of the couch, raising his beer. “And, uh, sorry. About before. I was an ass to you about a lot of things.”

“Don’t go changing on me now, Hank. I’ve just started growing fond of you.”

“Too late, you’re stuck with Nice Hank now. Can’t go back.”

“Such a shame.” Connor smiles warmly. “I almost can’t believe this is all happening.”

“What, having a day job? Talking to me about something other than deviants?” Hank takes a drink.

“All of it. Legally, we’re now equals. I can get paid for a job of my choosing. I can think and do whatever I want. I can _want._ Even having a human who cares enough about me to want me around--We’re friends, right?” Connor’s voice speeds up with excitement as he talks and he looks at Hank with assuredness and only a hint of anxiety on his face.

“We’re friends. Even if you don’t text me enough, yeah, we’re friends. I don’t think that’s going to change anytime soon. I like you, Connor, even if you get on my nerves sometimes. Just don’t go disappearing for another few months out of the blue again, alright?”

“I don’t plan on it. I’m still involved with Jericho, but not in as much of a capacity as the past few months. If I need to do anything that time-consuming, you and Fowler will be the first to know.”

“Do you even sleep?” Hank asks. “I mean--That’s not actually a rhetorical question. I legit don’t know.”

Connor laughs and his face loses some of the stiffness Hank hadn’t noticed was there. “Every few days. More often if I’m stressed, or less if I’m busy. I’m not exactly overworked; I easily have the capacity to work for days on end without breaks. I do take breaks,” he clarifies on seeing Hank’s frown. “I monitor my system status and my ‘mental state’ as you might call it. I’m still learning my own stressors, but I haven’t pushed myself. Speaking of…” He hesitates, glancing at Hank’s hands. “How have you been holding up?”

“Better than you might think,” Hanks says, taking a moment to contemplate. “I could’ve sworn I heard Tina talking about some ‘spring in my step’ the other day, and you know what? She might be right. I’m feeling a little lighter. I show up to work on time. Maybe the world’s not as shit as I wanted it to be.”

“Do you still…?” In a casual gesture, Connor taps his forefinger to his temple at an angle, thumb and forefinger in the rough shape of a gun symbol. Hank finally realizes what he’s been missing: Connor’s LED is gone.

“No.”

“I’m glad,” Connor says softly. “Thanks for telling me.”

Hank clears his throat. “So. Congrats on the job. I’d say we should go out to eat, but…”

“But?” Connor lifts an eyebrow, lips parting just enough to see his teeth. He reaches down to resume petting Sumo, but the dog decides to wander off and rest in his bed instead of standing by the couch.

“You don’t eat.”

“I am fully capable of eating.”

Hank stares at him. “I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me or not.”

“I have a cavity that functions as a stomach and I have taste receptors that I can activate as needed. I don’t possess the broadness of taste that humans do and I don’t have any coded preferences--such as how you naturally enjoy sugar, or any sense of disgust--but eating is a sensory experience that I enjoy.” He smiles, teeth shining. “Dinner sounds great.”

“Well, shit. I gotta stop making assumptions.” Hank leans forward and sets his bottle on the coffee table. “You free tomorrow night?”

“No, tomorrow I’ll be busy helping out North. I should be free Tuesday.”

“Tuesday…” Hank nods. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Fantastic.” Connor hops off of the sofa and leans over to squeeze Hank’s shoulder. “I have to go catch the bus. I’ll see you Monday morning.”

“See you.”

 

 

The two of them shift into an easy companionship when Monday rolls around. After a brief meeting with Fowler, they get to work organizing the cases and Hank can feel a weight lift off of his shoulders. Having a bit of help sorting things out feels like the breath of fresh air that Hank needed this week.

Work returns to normal--This time with Connor at his side.

The planned dinner for Tuesday doesn’t work out. The snow turns to rain and slush, causing them to work late hours picking out the evidence for their case. The rest of the week comes with a mix of bad weather, late work, and Connor taking off for Jericho, leaving the duo with only their work between them.

They stop by Hank’s place on Sunday evening, having gone in to finish documenting evidence earlier that afternoon. Hank’s ready to stay in for the night and Connor has yet another engagement at Jericho to attend. The rain has petered off and snowflakes drift lazily down, melting on the pavement.

“Hello, Sumo,” Connor says, kneeling next to the dog where he lies on the dog bed. The ends of his burgundy scarf touch the ground. “I missed you when I was gone. It’s been good to see you again.”

Sumo _boofs_ at him and flops his tail once.

“I think he missed you too,” Hank says. “We don’t exactly get a lot of visitors.”

“I’m his friend, of course he missed me.” Connor pats his head and then stands, joining Hank in the kitchen as the other man grabs some leftovers from the fridge. “Are you free tomorrow?”

He chucks the pasta in the microwave and sets the timer. “Tomorrow… Yeah, I think so,” he says, nodding a few times. “We can finally get that celebratory dinner. I’m thinking Italian. Somewhere nice. Angelo’s, maybe. Treat ourselves to something fancy for once. Hey, what’s your favorite food?”

Connor blinks in surprise. “I haven’t tried many, but I enjoy xiao long bao. I do not enjoy pizza.”

“No pizza? Really?”

“The level of grease is unpleasant. I find I do not enjoy melted cheese in the way that you would, but I can see the appeal. Italian sounds good. Angelo’s has a fair selection on its menu.”

“That gives you a leg up on me. I can’t even remember what they’ve got, it’s been so long.”

“They have plenty of salads to choose from.”

Hank rolls his eyes. “Thanks. I love it.”

Connor steps forward, hesitating for only a moment. “I’ll reserve us a table, but first, I have a question for you, Hank.”

“Reservations, huh?” The microwave beeps and Hank turns it off, leaving the pasta in to stay warm. “Shoot.”

“I appreciate you a lot as a friend and a partner. It simultaneously feels like we know each other very well and yet not at all. We’ve had some emotionally intense time together, but not a lot of time to truly know and understand each other. These things will naturally come in time with our friendship. We both know that.” He reaches out and rests his hand atop Hank’s on the counter, warm eyes meeting Hank’s and holding them steady. “I also _like_ you, Hank. There’s a lot about your self and your physicality that I find very attractive. I want to spend more time with you outside of what is considered standard friendship.”

Hank stares at him, struggling to take everything in. Emotionally, it’s like he’s been struck with a baseball bat, all of this seeming to come out of nowhere and turning his brain to mush.

“You--You had a question,” he sputters.

Connor grins sheepishly. “Will you go out on a date with me?”

Hank blinks a few times, sifting the words through the puddle that was his brain. He’s sure he missed something in there and he absolutely needs to review this entire conversation in his head about a hundred more times to make sense of where it came from.

What matters, though, is that he has Connor here, right in front of him, hand over his, asking to go out with him.

Connor isn’t even his type. He isn’t particularly attractive; CyberLife certainly tried, but they missed the mark. His voice is goofy and his clothing style is too formal. He’s built from wires and code and he crashed into Hank’s life--and house--like a windstorm.

But in the end, he’s all Connor. The man who turned Hank’s life around in less than a week, saving his life more than once and showing him that both of them could change in ways they never thought possible. A man who’s now back in Hank’s life after seeing him at his worst--without an ounce of pity to be seen.

Hank swallows his nerves and smiles back. “I’d love to.”

Connor beams at him. “Thank you. I look forward to it.”

Hank clears his throat and finally takes his dinner. He looks at the other man with wonder in his eyes. “Me too, Connor. Me too.”

 

 

Snow continues to fall throughout the next day, enough to stick but not enough to make driving too hazardous. Work drifts by that day as the two of them clear out a couple of older cases and set up their agenda for the rest of the week. Both are out of the office by five and looking forward to the date an hour and a half later. They wave goodbye quietly outside the precinct.

At his apartment, Connor stares at his closet. If he had his LED, it would be spinning a constant yellow.

Anything he wears for work is out. He has no doubt that he looks good in his work suits and his personal preference remains firmly aligned with his initial design, but he isn’t keen on wearing the same thing he does every day. It’s a first date--his first date ever--and he wants it to be special. He wants to impress Hank and change up his appearance for once.

He eyes the few sweaters in his closet, running through a few outfit iterations in his head. There’s a finite amount of preconstructions he can imagine and he’s through them in only a second, dismissing them with a thought. Idly he begins composing messages to his friends--Hank included by default--but each one is deleted before it can be sent out. Nerves, he supposes. He’s nervous.

He needs more jackets, he muses. Something that he wouldn’t normally wear to work.

A thought strikes him and his eyes slide to the three-piece suit at the end of his closet. After a few more preconstructions, he’s decided.

He changes quickly and admires himself in the mirror: White button-down shirt, top button undone; dark grey vest; very dark blue jeans, custom fitted; and black shoes. It doesn’t venture from his monochromatic standard, he notices with a small frown, but it will work.

As long as Hank doesn’t show up in a tuxedo, he should fit right in.

He smiles at his reflection, then turns around slowly, head over his shoulder to see how he looks from behind. Not bad.

Connor grabs his coat and runs a quick search on Valentine’s customs before heading out.

 

 

Angelo’s is closed.

Connor arrives first, stepping out of his taxi to stand on the sidewalk and stare at the door. A piece of paper has been taped to the inside of the door: _“CLOSED - We sincerely apologize for the inconvenience.”_ Employees remain inside but no customers. A check online indicates nothing; this must be recent. He’s taken to not snooping as much, so he doesn’t run a scan on anyone inside, and he doesn’t waste time speculating whether this is due to a health hazard, a crime, or anything else.

Snowflakes cling to the rose in his hand.

His lips thin and he climbs back in the taxi, calling Hank. He puts his hand to the console, skin peeling back, and inputs a new destination.

Thankfully, Hank picks up right away. “I’m not late, am I?”

He grins, the words tamping down his frustration. “No, I’m just early. Our reservation isn’t going to work out; Angelo’s closed early tonight.”

There’s a low whistle on the other end. “What a night to close early. You got anywhere else in mind? Anywhere without an hour-long wait?”

“Yes.” It feels unorthodox for a first date, but he’s used to deciding things on the fly. “Meet me in an hour at the address I’ve texted to your phone. There shouldn’t be any line and I’ve managed to get us a reservation.”

He grins out the window, watching Detroit pass by him as he twirls the rose in his hands.

“You got it.” A pause. “It’s not some hippy vegan joint, is it?”

“We’re still having Italian, Hank,” Connor says, fondness creeping into his voice. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got everything handled. I’ll see you in an hour.”

He disconnects the call, watching the evening lights pass by until his next stop.

 

 

Hank knows exactly how cheeky Connor was being the moment he reads the address: An apartment number. They’re ordering in or cooking something--and Hank has his bets on ordering in, if only because he’s plagued by doubts that Connor has any idea how to cook anything, having probably never had to in his life and probably having a place that doesn’t have a full kitchen, if he wanted to keep his rent relatively low.

He had spent some time after work browsing a florist but coming up empty. He knows Connor had some issues with CyberLife and roses, some program with a garden he was reluctant to talk about after the revolution and which hasn’t come up since. As much as he’d like to get something for him, the flowers have already been picked over and he’s not sure if any bad memories are going to come up if he does buy Connor a bouquet.

He hopes that what he ended up with isn’t too forward.

At 7:30 exactly he steps out of his car and trudges toward Connor’s apartment. If his hands weren’t firmly in his coat pockets he would be wringing them anxiously now. Thoughts run through his mind faster than he can keep up with or put words to. This was meant to be a nice night out between friends; Why didn’t they pick another restaurant? How upset is Connor with all of their plans falling through? What is Connor expecting from this date and can Hank give him that?

The anxiety simmers in his belly but he manages to keep a lid on it. He knocks on the door before he loses his nerve.

Connor answers only a few moments later, his face lighting up from a neutral expression into the biggest smile Hank’s seen from him yet. His hair is slightly askew. “Please, come in.” He holds the door for Hank and takes his coat once inside, hanging it up beside the door.

The place is not exactly what Hank was expecting. It’s a mix of pristine and lived-in, with not a speck of dust but a few personal affects making their way into the living room, from a couple of canvases on the wall (one an emotional blue and red painting, likely an original, and another a print he swears he’s seen before) to pens on the coffee table and a few plants scattered about. Furnishings are fairly standard for an apartment.

He doesn’t know much about Connor’s personal life and tastes, but every little thing he sees that Connor’s put in this place makes him want to find out.

The kitchen table is set for two, dishes already served. An unopened bottle of wine and two wine glasses sit beside the plates.

He can feel Connor’s eyes on him, looking him up and down. He’s decided on his black and white streaky suit for tonight: Nice but not overly formal. He takes the opportunity to look Connor over as well and can say he’s far from disappointed. This look suits him.

“It smells delicious,” Hank says, sitting in the chair Connor pulls out for him. He glances at the food--cooked perfectly--and makes a guess mostly based on the amount of garlic he can smell. “You made this?”

Connor shrugs, heading back to the kitchen. “Takeout would’ve taken too long. What can I say? I’m impatient.”

“It looks great!” The dish looks deceptively simple: Steamed green beans, pasta with alfredo sauce, and baked chicken stuffed with spinach and cheese. Probably all made from scratch. Connor’s place is similar, but lighter on the sauce and without cheese. “You made this in an hour?”

“Forty minutes. I just plated it.” He returns and, with a flourish, offers Hank the rose.

Hank can’t help the blush creeping up his neck. He takes the rose and gingerly sets it aside on the table. “I, uh, got you something too.”

“You didn’t need to.”

“Nope, you’ve gone and made me a whole homecooked meal. I am definitely giving you a gift.” He reaches down and frowns, realizing it’s in his coat pocket. “Just give me a sec.”

It’s a little awkward, taking the small black cardboard box out of his coat and returning to the table all in Connor’s line of sight, but he accepts the nerves. He’d be nervous about anything in this situation. He holds out the box, offering it to the other man. “For you.”

Connor meets his eyes and accepts the box, something wondrous in his expression before he opens it and takes out the necklace. It’s made of a steel-chain necklace with a charm in the shape of a Celtic knot hanging off of it. It shines brightly in the warm lighting around them.

He sets the box aside, bringing up the jewelry to his neck and effortlessly clasping it together. The chain rests on his collarbone, the charm perfectly position to just avoid being hidden by his clothing.

“I love it, Hank.” His crooked smile reveals the teeth beneath before softening. “Thank you.”

Connor steps forward and captures Hank’s lips in a kiss. His touch is gentle but firm and his hands rest on his hips, staying there when he pulls his mouth back. He catches Hank’s eyes again, expression filled with eagerness and a question. “Is this…”

Hank kisses him back, lips slow and lingering. “This is good,” he murmurs. “This is perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me in the [New ERA Discord](https://discord.gg/2EKAAz3) or on twitter as @gildedfrost.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I wanted to make something quick for Valentine's Day so I typed this up. I hope you enjoy it!


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